


led me to the slaughter (i'm someone's daughter)

by Anonymous



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: F/F, Fingerfucking, Mirror Sex, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-23 05:11:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20334619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Mon digs her nails into Jyn's hips like clawing her bloody will fix any of the problems that she, they, the Rebellion has, and Jyn gives a strangled noise that might have been a gasp, might have been laughter. "I forgot," she says with a smirk. "What is it - it's right if it's you? It's right because it's you? Because you turned Jyn Erso, fuckup, into Jyn Erso, hero?"[ Mon, Jyn, and how to dress for war. ]





	led me to the slaughter (i'm someone's daughter)

**Author's Note:**

> I did it for you  
Let the bottom drop out, it’s such a cop-out  
(You) led me to the slaughter, but  
I’m someone’s daughter  
— 'Guts', Alex Winston

Jyn stands in front of the mirror, as unashamed of her nakedness as she is of all other aspects of her life. She doesn't quite meet Mon's gaze in the glass, but she's not avoiding it either, just observing.

Judging.

Like she knows what's coming.

The thing is, Mon's sure she _does_ know, at least on some level. Jyn's a smart girl, always has been - people like her don't survive this long if they make mistakes - but after Scarif, Mon thought, for a little while, that she'd earned something as close to trust as Jyn was capable of.

It's why she's able to do this, to dress her up for the heart of the Empire and likely leave her to die, again. It's why she feels worse about it this time.

Why Jyn's _letting_ her, on the other hand - well. She'll find out, or she won't, and Jyn will survive, or she won't, and all the Tyrian shimmersilk and judgmental looks in the world won't change that.

The silk itself is cool as it slips through Mon's fingers, a sharp contrast to the heat of Jyn's gaze burning across her chest. Mon smooths the fabric of the suit, carefully laying it out across the bed between them.

Jyn will be wearing it before the night is over. Maybe she'll be buried in it, not that Mon expects her body to come back to Yavin or any sort of Rebellion-controlled space if it comes to that.

Jyn breathes. Mon breathes. Something was supposed to crack before this, Jyn's anger shouldn't have lain for so long. Is she even angry? Mon lifts her eyes to the mirror, traces the muscles and scars of Jyn's body and lets her gaze rest on Jyn's lips, which are chapped and red and pursed in impatience.

She wants those lips on her body, wants them rough against her neck and hot against her cunt. It's not the sort of selfishness she usually allows herself, certainly not with soldiers she doesn't expect to come home.

But it's _Jyn_, and she's always been irresistible whether she's covered in blood with her teeth bared or absolutely naked with perfectly styled hair, waiting to infiltrate gatherings of Core world nobility. Perfectly independent and yet perfectly willing to do what Mon asks - with a cocky smirk and more explosives than necessary, and usually a punch or five Mon's way on the gym mats too, but she listens and she believes and that power's intoxicating in a way Mon sometimes thinks she should be much more careful of than she is.

It's Jyn, who's still watching her. Mon almost feels like she should say something, but Jyn breaks the silence before she can.

"You gonna give me an actual sendoff? Or are the Imperials the only ones who are gonna fuck me over this week?"

Someone else, Mon might try to deflect: they won't fuck you over if you're good, she'd say, and Jyn is, she's the best of them to do something like this and the one most likely to survive, but she won't stand for platitudes. Mon respects that about her.

She crosses the short distance between them that nevertheless manages to feel like light years, and rests her hands on Jyn's hips. Meets her eyes in the mirror, for the first time. Jyn's skin is warm under her grip, and that feels unaccountably important.

"I wouldn't send you if it wasn't the right thing to do." Jyn deserves at least that much of the truth, what she chooses to do with it is up to her.

Jyn's eyes narrow. "Questionable amount of right things to do in a war like this, Senator." But her cheeks are flushed, she's always been quick to respond even unconsciously to praise, and guilt threatens to claw its way back up Mon's throat. They've lost and lost, even after Scarif, and lives gone seem worse than plans gained, even though they won't know the real reckoning for months, maybe years.

Mon digs her nails into Jyn's hips like clawing her bloody will fix any of the problems that she, they, the Rebellion has, and Jyn gives a strangled noise that might have been a gasp, might have been laughter. "I forgot," she says with a smirk. "What is it - it's right if it's you? It's right _because_ it's you? Because you turned Jyn Erso, fuckup, into Jyn Erso, hero?"

It's none of those, but Mon gives Jyn what she wants anyway, spins her around and pushes her back into the mirror so hard she fears for a moment it'll crack down the middle, just like they have. "Yeah," Jyn says, and that's laughter for real, laughter like she's trying to goad Mon just like she does in training, but her voice is too flat, those black eyes too hollow. "Show me you're sorry. That you care enough to give me one good night."

Jyn shouldn't be the one talking, Mon thinks with an edge of hysteria, that's usually her job, Jyn not usually one for more than fuck and yes and sometimes just silence, making Mon work for any sign of pleasure beyond her physical arousal. She's not sure talkative Jyn is a good sign of things to come.

"Tell me what you want, then." Her voice is steady. She hadn't expected it to be, for some reason.

Jyn's eyes flick to the suit laid out on the bed, and Mon can't help but wonder what it would look like crumpled under their bodies, stained with sweat, maybe ripped where Jyn would bite down into it while Mon fucked her three fingers deep.

Not pretty anymore. They've both lost their taste for pretty over the years or perhaps just made peace with its absence.

"Your fingers," Jyn says, and Mon's eyes snap back to her. Jyn isn't pretty either, all teeth and scars and the sickly gleam of kyber at her throat, but Mon still wants her more than she's ever wanted something as simple as _pretty_. "Fuck, Mothma, your whole damn hand, I don't care, just - fuck me like it's worth something."

It's an absurd conversation for them to be having, Jyn barely breathing hard and Mon still fully dressed, but the words get to her anyway and she swallows hard, presses herself so tight against Jyn she can't see either of them in the mirror. Jyn's irresistible like this, like always.

She's burning between her legs when Mon palms her cunt, rubs at her clit, searching for any sign of arousal beyond her wide eyes, the slight hitch to her breathing.

Does Jyn want this? Or does she just want to see what she can push Mon into? "You're worth more than this," Mon says. Soft, her lips buried in the crook of Jyn's neck and she's not sure the other woman hears her. She doesn't react to the words, hardly gasps as Mon rests a fingertip at her entrance. If she pushes inside it'll hurt, it must, but - she's done worse. Hasn't she?

Jyn squirms against her, the sound of her skin against the glass loud and harsh in the quiet room. "Yes," she says, and it sounds much more like an answer to the unspoken question than to anything Mon's said aloud. "Coward. Are you going to believe me or not?"

Believe Jyn, believe her body. Time was there wasn't a difference. Mon pinches Jyn's clit, feels wetness starting to gather under her fingers. It feels like a reward, like something she doesn't deserve.

And yet, her own cunt uncomfortably slick, Mon presses Jyn's naked body against the mirror and fucks her just like she's asked.


End file.
